


The Silver Privateer

by fabricdragon



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Aftermath, Attempted Kidnapping, Canon-Typical Violence, Costumes, Developing Relationship, Fluff and Humor, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pirates, Post-Canon, Work In Progress, do not copy to any other site, mystrade, of a sort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-19
Updated: 2019-09-28
Packaged: 2020-11-02 09:43:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20703428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fabricdragon/pseuds/fabricdragon
Summary: Greg has to represent the MET at a VERY high security function, AND keep an eye on Mycroft Holmes- made a bit more difficult by that blasted crush he has on the man.  And its a costume party...Swashbuckling ensues.A birthday present  for Inner Spectrum, whose birthday happens to fall on International Talk Like A Pirate day 2019now complete





	1. a chance meeting at a costume shop

**Author's Note:**

  * For [InnerSpectrum](https://archiveofourown.org/users/InnerSpectrum/gifts).

Greg knew this was a terrible idea: he wasn't cut out for fancy parties or high society. _ Put me in a pub, sure, but a fancy dress ball? _ The problem was that the superintendent only knew that- thanks to his dealings with the Holmes family- his security clearance was… well lets just call it impressive, so he was the ‘natural’ choice to go as both the official face of the Met, and a low key security insider.

“This is a horrible idea.” Greg muttered for the thousandth time as he trudged into the costume shop. He couldn't afford a decorated mask from this shop but the superintendent had sent him a gift card and told him to get something ‘nice’- as if he knew what that would be?

The staff, which appeared to consist of an older man, his daughter, and several other probable members of his family, just looked dubiously at him when he came in… he handed over the gift card and tried to explain his predicament… at least the daughter seemed sympathetic.

“These are former rentals… and … I’m sorry, but the only outfits available and in your budget.”

“That’s fine, Ma’am: i tried to tell him this was a bad-”

“Gordon? What are you doing here?”

Greg pinched the bridge of his nose, “Its GREG, Sherlock… what are YOU doing here?”

“Picking up my… oh… they’re sending YOU?”

Greg turned and sighed, “yup. I told the superintendent it was a horrible idea, but they didn't listen, just gave me a gift card and packed me off-”

“Louisa? How much did they send along; enough for a good costume?”

“Sir? You… know this gentleman?”

Greg looked back and forth, “You… ah… know Sherlock?” this was either going to be lovely or he was going to be thrown out for being associated with him- no telling which.

Sherlock smirked faintly as the daughter started calling the rest of the family in because “Detective Holmes” is here… _Ok… it was good that he knew him?…_

Shortly after that, Sherlock identified Greg as “Detective Inspector Lestrade is the police officer who is my primary contact at the Met, and… a friend.”

And Greg didn't even have time to react before he was dragged off to a much nicer section of the shop and ....

He managed to meet Sherlock’s eyes with a plea for help, and the bastard just called out, “Get him something that suits his coloring!” as he turned and walked out with his garment bag.

Oi!

He finally escaped with orders to pick up his outfit the day of the party… they were TAILORING it to fit him!

...

He caught up to Sherlock at Baker Street later that evening.

“I take it you did them a favor?”

“Something like that, and no I won't tell you- it's their business.”

“So… you’re going to this thing? I thought it wasn’t your... “ Greg groaned and slid down into the chair, “There’s going to be a murder isn't there… can you stop it BEFORE i’m supposed to arrive?”

Sherlock smiled and shook his head, but he looked a bit pensive. “As far as I know? No… it would be much more interesting if there was a murder scheduled, or threatened, or… but no, I’m going to keep an eye on Mycroft.”

“To...uh….” Greg thought about how shaken everyone had been the last time he saw them… “how bad?” he asked quietly.

“I am not the only member of the family with… unhealthy coping habits, merely the only one whose habits are illegal.” Sherlock fidgeted, “it seems… backward to be worried about my brother’s habits, but… I am concerned…”

“He’s looked after you through a lot of bad times, yeah.” Greg nodded.

“I suppose it's my turn,” Sherlock looked up at him thoughtfully, “Since you will be there, and I know my brother has dealt with you a great deal more than most people know, will you help?”

“Well… I mean… yes? I don’t know what you expect me to do, though… still, I'll be happy to try?”

“My brother was… encouraged to drink far too much, and has always had issues with his diet… I… suspect more so with everything.” Sherlock got that distant look that said he was calculating, “I expect several of his supposed allies and peers to attempt to get him drunk enough to embarrass himself, or falter at least…”

Greg nodded, “make him look bad so they can get his position: seen that with police events.”

“Precisely,” Sherlock nodded, “With the added complication that some of them may have access to drugs…”

“Roofie him you mean?”

“More or less, even if not those drugs.” Sherlock frowned, “If… you could run interference- get him non-alcoholic drinks, or even just be an excuse for him to walk away from a problem…”

Greg perked up, “THAT i can do… and we can all be sober together! I shouldn’t drink on duty anyway.”

Sherlock stared at him, “You… are not supposed to be on duty, officially; won’t that give too much away?”

Greg shrugged, “So? I’ll just claim I'm a recovering alcoholic… you and Mycroft can be staying dry as support for me.”

“Wouldn't that harm your reputation?”

“Nah. too many cops on the force who really are, and I'll tell the Superintendent my plan to avoid alcohol and he’ll be grumpy but it's a good excuse.”

He saw a flash glimpse of his genuine concern and gratitude as he said, “Thank you, Greg, that will help…” and then started poking about at some kind of experiment, probably because he was uncomfortable about the whole thing.

“So… I’m picking up my costume after the fitting… “ Greg changed the subject.

Sherlock cheerfully responded, “What did they give you?”

“I’m a pirate or privateer, or something.”

Sherlock chuckled, “probably because they know you are a friend of mine: I’m a Pirate Captain.”

"What’s Mycroft going as? Or is he not going in fancy dress?”

“Oh the fancy dress is required- he hates it. He was going to try to find a costume that just let him use his usual suit and umbrella, but the royals apparently insisted he put in a bit more effort…” Sherlock smirked, “So I suggested he go as an Admiral in the Navy… during the same era my pirate costume is from…” the smile vanished, “he… I don't think he even got the joke.”

“Ouch.” Greg winced.

“Yes.”

“Well, a Pirate, a Privateer, and a Navy Admiral walk into a bar… and don’t drink… is a strange start to a story, but hey…”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A very high level party, two Holmes brothers, and a Detective Inspector... or an Admiral, a Pirate, and a Privateer...  
AAAAAAAaand here we go.

Greg ran his hand nervously down the front of his costume again… _ costume, hell- it certainly didn't look like a ‘costume’. _ He’d scarcely believed it when they’d put it on him: the silver accents and grey details were incredible- they were talking about ‘suiting his coloring’ like Sherlock had asked, and the rich brown in the outfit by contrast…

Yes, real leather, and wool… _ God, I could never afford this… _

He had slipped his actual weapons into the pouches and bags- along with some zip ties and other things- but he had a gloriously realistic fake pistol, and a real sword! Not an antique, although it looked like one…

...

Greg gulped nervously as he handed over his invitation to the footman, who nodded and showed him in… he was ‘announced’ of course, but luckily it was still a bit thinly populated.

_ Good god i want a beer… they probably don't even have any, and I shouldn't drink… _

Just as he was debating what to do next there was movement and he turned…

“...Mycroft…Mister Holmes...” he managed to say after a few attempts- his throat had gone a bit dry- “That… suits you.”

Mycroft Holmes stood resplendent in his historic Admirals costume- and it looked like he’d just stepped out of a portrait gallery: it was no more a ‘costume’ than his own outfit. He looked like authority, and England...and it showed off his physique rather extraordinarily… Greg thought the sword suited him more than his customary umbrella as well.

“Lestrade,” Mycroft nodded, but he had that faint lift to the eyes that Greg had learned to interpret as a smile. “Your outfit certainly suits you.”

“So… ah… did Sherlock tell you I would be here? He… obviously helped with the costume… costume, right…” he ran his hand down the buttons again and noticed Mycroft’s eyes tracked his hand for some reason.

“...They do excellent work,” Mycroft nodded, “And Sherlock did mention your attendance but i was aware from reviewing the guest list and the security logs…”

“Right.” Greg tried to drag his eyes off the way the uniform looked on the man, “So he’s concerned about attempts to-”

“Damage my position, yes.” Mycroft snorted huffily with that odd fond tone he only got about Sherlock. “I’m afraid that not drinking entirely is… politically not an option, but I did promise i would limit my consumption.” he nodded at Greg, “You do not need to feign illness for my sake, but it is far more accepted for an officer- who may need to go on duty after the event, if not during- to abstain.”

Greg smiled at that, “You might be on duty too- no matter what anyone says, the comments about you having ‘a minor position in the government’ never did sound convincing.”

Mycroft just looked at him cooly for a moment and then a miracle occurred… he glanced about very quickly and a corner of his mouth turned up, “Well, Gregory, i never said i _ had _ a minor position… I said I _ occupy _a minor position in the British Government… and i do: in the same sense that I occupy my office while i work.” he nodded slightly and walked off to speak to someone.

Greg had been so shocked by that smile… not the plastic smile he’d seen Mycroft give on numerous occasions, not the insincere smile of a politician… and not the sad smile he’d worn so often around Sherlock in recovery…

A smile.

A subtle smile, one that had a bit of wicked behind it, and a bit of fun…

Greg shivered, _ Oh no… no no no… _ Greg firmly got himself a ginger ale and started lecturing himself _ , you are NOT ALLOWED to be smitten by Sherlock’s brother. It's impossible, and it just makes your heart hurt for days after. _ Greg sighed glumly into his glass: he’d managed to get over it, he’d thought… put it entirely aside and just deal with things on business and not… not let himself be taken with fancies… and the man just smiled a bit at him and it was all back.

Greg forced his mind onto business and despite it being entirely redundant- security was very good- he started going over exits, entrances and all the other things that became so important in an emergency.

He had to explain to a security guard just WHY he was poking his nose into the servants corridors… but once his identity was confirmed he was shown the doors out- alarmed- and the doors in- secured AND alarmed- and introduced to the snipers who were off rotation right now…

Yeah, security was tight. They didn't expect trouble, but by God they were prepared for it.

Feeling considerably better he went back into the party.

It was a lot busier by the time he got back. Sherlock had arrived and he looked… well he looked like Hollywood’s idea of a pirate captain: he was putting his practice with his coat to good use, turning constantly to swish his coat, striding about like he was on the deck of a ship…

Greg couldn't help but smile: Sherlock was SO dramatic… they both were, both brothers, really… just Sherlock was loud about it and by comparison Mycroft was subtle…

But they both surely did dress to impress… they were so much alike and so different...

Greg did his best to make small talk- it was painfully obvious he didn't belong at this level of things, but most of the guests were kind about it.

Eventually he ended up passing close to Mycroft- he was speaking solemnly to a group of people who obviously spent a fortune on their costumes… and didn't look half as good.

_ What the hell… _ Greg walked by, “Mister Holmes,” Greg nodded and addressed him as though he was just seeing the man for the first time today, “I thought you were going to wear a costume, not invent a time machine to swipe the Admiral’s portrait clothing.”

… and Mycroft’s gave one of those very subtle smiles and a faint dip of the head, “Detective Inspector… your parade uniform seems to have been upgraded…”

“Well since I’m a privateer, i assume i need to dress to impress for the crown, right?” Greg drew his hand through his hair and then mentally cursed himself for probably making it stand up in spikes.

One of the ladies was looking at him a bit oddly- yeah he probably messed his hair up- Mycroft cleared his throat, “ah… yes, this is Detective Inspector Lestrade of the MET… who has also done quite a bit of work coordinating with MI5…” he politely introduced the people he was with…

Good God...the LEAST influential fellow in this lot controlled the entire budget for London police work….

A server came by with drinks- apparently by request- and Greg noticed Mycroft’s frowned hesitance as he picked his up…

Greg deliberately bumped his hand and then took the glass out of it as it sloshed- and spilled it a bit more deliberately. “Oh good grief! Sorry, Mister Holmes, I'm not used to this sword and it keeps tangling me up… can I get you a new drink?” Greg dabbed at his cuff with his handkerchief, although he didn't think much had gotten on him.

“Quite alright,” Mycroft said smoothly, “they do take some getting used to… and yes, that would be kind.” he hesitated and then added, “I leave it to your judgement.” and he turned back to continue his conversation.

Greg walked to the bar and was about to dump that drink when Sherlock appeared at his elbow. “I’ll just take that and have it analyzed; good job.”

Greg handed it over as quietly as possible. “I'll get him some punch or something.”

Sherlock nodded and slipped away, the glass hidden in the sweep of his coat. Greg smiled and then shook his head, _ right… punch… _

He had to ask a few of the wait staff, and make his way over to a side table that was loaded with fruit and had a server with pitchers behind him. 

“Brilliant! A nice fruit and cheese platter is just the thing to go with his punch.” After considering how to juggle it all he decided to just come back for his own and assembled a plate while the server poured a glass of punch.

Aaaand Mycroft had vanished.

After a brief attempt to find him one of the security people quietly said something about royals, and a meeting, and ‘not long sir’ so Greg polished off the platter and the drink…

_ Hmmm… that was NOT non-alcoholic! _ Greg frowned and went back to the fruit table. “Pardon, i asked for NON-alcoholic punch.”

A waiter nodded, “yes sir? This is all alcohol free.”

“I just got a glass and-” Greg tried to hand it to him and staggered, he barely caught himself on the edge of the table. “Damn, tripped over the sword for real this time.”

“Sir? Are you well? I can get a chair?”

“Yeah, good idea.”

Greg was sitting, drinking water, and the room was tilted oddly askew….

…

A group of … brigands! Had come in, he just saw the Queen’s guard beginning to respond...

the privateer Captain Gegoire Lestrade leapt to his feet.

Musket fire began and several of the servants revealed themselves to be armed- unfortunately it was unclear whose side they were on, as Her Majesty was known to employ a cunning spymaster…

Captain Lestrade began giving commands, trying to get people to safety, and out of the way so that the Queen’s men could handle the ruffians… he saw the former Pirate Sherlock- now a pardoned privateer like himself, for all he was never certain of the man’s ethics- draw his sword and take two of the brigands down, even as one had drawn a pistol.

_ Thank all the stars i had the Queen’s men show me the servant’s passages _, Gregoire thought grimly as he shepherded a number of the nobles out of harm's way, and told them to stay quiet and barricade the door.

He was heading back when his eye caught a glimpse of scarlet vanishing ‘round the corner… _ scarlet? The servants’ livery wasn’t scarlet? _

Gregoire took off at a run, and saw several of the brigands- all in black and with their faces behind kerchiefs- dragging off the Admiral…

The Admiral who had all the secrets of Her Majesty’s fleet at his fingertips… _ Spaniards, obviously, were behind this! _Gregoire judged that attempting armed combat would very likely get the Admiral killed, and chose instead to plow bodily into them… some part of his mind hazily recalled a youthful game of sport…

They scattered and fell like tenpins.

Gregoire pushed Admiral Holmes behind him and drew his sword- he swung and somehow missed… one of them drew a pistol…

The Admiral had somehow drawn Gregoire’s pistol from his pocket and fired… it was all … _ smoke? Was there smoke?! _

“Fire!” Gregoire coughed and pulled his handkerchief to hold over his mouth, “Admiral, much as it pains me, we have to run…”

The Admirals voice, muffled by his own kerchief, agreed, but he argued against going out the door- “they were dragging me that way! They likely have reinforcements…”

“Aye, or a carriage; quite so! Stay behind me…” and Gregoire swung his sword- more to force them back than with any aim… but they seemed to be falling back from the smoke themselves, and he ran for one of the other exits he knew.

He heard the Admiral’s feet close behind, but soon he heard the sounds of pursuit… and then a gunshot… the Admiral fell into him and the pistol fell from his hand: Gregoire scooped it up and pulled Admiral Holmes close to his side, firing back down the hallway. He spotted a door and dragged them both into a small room…

“How badly wounded?”

The Admiral, stoic as always, merely said, “it should be seen to- the blood loss will be an issue.”

Gregoire cursed vehemently- his grandmere would be ashamed of his abuse of the tongue- and set to binding the wound…

“As much as your accent is charming…and you look the part...” Admiral Holmes said quietly, “I think you would have been better with your issued weapon than that plaything…”

“Plaything?” he should keep him talking… he didn't THINK the bullet was immediately life threatening…

“The sword…? Gregory… Lestrade, are you alright?”

“I wasn’t shot, Admiral…”

“Inspector?”

“Inspect what? I can’t get a good look at the wound until we have better light, and I am concerned for the Spanish…”

“Spanish?”

The blood loss and shock… he wasn't making much sense. “The Spanish brigands, Admiral… it MUST be the Spanish behind it: they went straight for you… Only the Spanish would show such concern for the fleet… “

The Admiral was staring at him with wide eyes, and then very quietly, “Did… the smoke… it hasn't affected me, and you were acting oddly before… Gregory, did you have anything unusual to drink? Before all of this?”

He tried to humor the man while hoping the Queen’s guard would rout the villains before they found them. “Well, a mild drink- you had asked for one that would let you keep your wits- turned out to be made very strong indeed… I found out when I drank it. Is that what you are asking?”

“You… drank… something meant for me…” he closed his eyes and opened them, “Gregory… you’ve been drugged. They meant it for me, they were surprised when I fought them…”

Gregoire stared at the man, “is that why i missed the cur? We were close enough but my blade was too clumsy…”

The door rattled, and then a blow against it and muffled voices.

“Drugged or not, Gregory, we need to get out of here.” Holmes looked at the window. “Go, leave me- it will delay them: they wanted me alive… go find my brother…”

_ Oh, yes… yes, how had he forgotten… the secret that his brother- the Admirals own brother- had been a pirate… _ Gregoire’s head swam as he looked at the window and at the door.

“I won’t leave you, Admiral… you’re coming with me…”

“I can hardly-” his words were cut off as Gregoire picked him up bodily and ran for the window… there were banners and blazons and garlands… he could only hope they were well made…

The brigands- nay, agents of Spain- burst the door in: there was no more time.

Gregoire Lestrade, Privateer with a letter of Marque from Queen Elizabeth, signed by Admiral Holmes himself… held the Admiral over his shoulder and jumped….


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> escaping in a carriage from the blazing castle, the musketeers held the Spaniards at bay...

Jumped may have been a strong word: the Admiral was a tall man, and while Gregoire had certainly practiced carrying one of his men to safety it didn't lend itself to ‘leaping’ out of windows; more like tumbling from them.

Gregoire grabbed the banner he had seen- it ripped clear of its moorings as he expected, but slowed their descent- grabbed the garland and swag as they fell past it- it held… barely. Having to trust that the Admiral would hold on, he swung as best he could until he could grab the other banner- the one he had seen was more securely fastened…

_ Made it! _

And curling both legs and one arm around the banner he held the Admiral with the other and began sliding down to the ground…

“Bit of a drop to the ground at the end, Admiral…” he managed to say in warning before he had to do his best to drop the remaining fifteen feet from the end of the banner to the ground. He did manage to slow their fall, and took most of the impact to spare the Admiral… but still ended up on a stone drive with the wind knocked out of him.

As he was gathering his wits and breath and verifying that nothing was broken he heard the Admiral mumble, “no wonder you get along with Sherlock…”

He realized the man hadn't yelled, screamed, or any other expected results of having someone bodily carry you out of a window- just a sharp inhale, a faint curse, and a few noises of pain as they hit things… his admiration of Mycroft Holmes’ nerves went up considerably.

“We should get under cover…” Gregoire said as he got his legs back under him.

“Yes, but we are blocked from view from the room we exited rather abruptly by the torn and tangled banner… the snipers on the other roof at least seem to be on our side and aren’t firing at us…”

Gregoirew blinked… sure enough there were musketeers on the far roof. “If those are the Queen’s guard i met or saw several earlier… in any event if they aren't firing at us, they're not my concern.”

“Not your division,” the Admiral muttered. “You do know you’re a bit mad? Hurling us out of a window is something i would expect of my brother.”

“It was the only way out… now you were already wounded… we need to get you to-”

“Judging from the light in the sky over the rooftop,” Admiral Holmes said tiredly, “the terrorists… er… ‘Spaniards’ set fires or explosions between us and the best routes to help: sensible, if annoying.”

Gregoire carefully pulled the Admiral up and got them to the cover of…. The world twisted and bent as he stared at the thing… _ carriage? But… _

“Lestrade? Gregory?” 

“The… it's a carriage i know that, but where are the horses…?”

“It’s a car… Good God, I don't even want to know what was in that drink or what it would have done to me- might think i should be sword fighting them…”

Gregoire frowned and put the Admiral in and got in behind… _ a wheel? Like a ship… this was familiar? _

“Some fanciful invention of one of the artificers? How do I know this?” he tried to let his hands move of their own, and there was shortly a rumble and the carriage moved… “I have no idea how i know this…”

“I have no idea how you know how to hotwire a vintage car!” the Admiral yelped and then, “Greg, please… pull off the road… the fire is between here and help…”

“The fire is in fact set between us and my ship- as well as the barracks for the Queen’s men,” Gregoire nodded, “But my skiff is in the OTHER direction, and it should have supplies to stop the bleeding… and… signal for aid.”

The drive took on a surreal quality- as though the world kept shifting around him. The Admiral was mostly doing… something… with a small box? A bit large to be snuff…

“Where did you say we were going Gregory? Errr… Captain?

“You may call me Gregoire, or Gregory if you please, Admiral.” Gregoire couldn't help but smile.

“... ah… it’s Mycroft, then, not Admiral.”

“An honor, Mycroft. We are almost there.”

“I’ve alerted my staff that we are clear of the building, and to render aid to my brother and the other people there…but i would like to tell them where we are going.”

“You… how?” Gregoire puzzled but added, “I got a group of the nobles to safety and had them bar the door… just before I caught a glimpse of those blackguards dragging you away.”

“Oh? Good…”

“As to where we are going, I told you… the skiff- there.” he nodded as they pulled into… _ the marina? The docks looked so odd… _ he took the window down and typed in numbers to the box before he thought… then stared..

“The gate will close soon.” the Admiral- Mycroft- said rather oddly.

“Oh.” he took them through and pulled aside near the skiff. “It all… looks strange Admiral… er.. Mycroft… as though… things look familiar and then they don't.” he shook his head, “best to get you lying down and treated.”

He helped the man up and onto the skiff and then below - as much as this boat had a below- and onto the bed. The medical bag felt familiar in his hands, but looked so very odd… still, bandages were bandages, no matter how peculiar, and blankets were good.

“Your wound needs more tending than I can manage, but it will do.” he said after he did what he could. It must have been painful but the only sign of discomfort from Mycroft was a certain tension about his face.

“I’m impressed, you know, most men would … not take any of this so well.”

“I think you would know that i am not most men.” Mycroft snapped and managed to look imperiously down at him - while lying down with his clothing cut half apart and wrapped in a peculiar orange blanket.

“No… no you are not- never were.” Gregoire smiled and dragged his hand through his hair again.

“Are you… ah… the drug seems to be wearing off?” Mycroft asked hopefully.

“If everything looking so peculiar and confusing is ‘wearing off’ then yes. I… this may be terribly forward of me, but...I am sorry you were the target of this, but very pleased to have been of service.”

Mycroft stared at him for a very long time: Gregoire flushed and looked away.

“Gregory Lestrade… are you… flirting?”

“...i… uh… would not sully your reputation so…” Greg swallowed and then got up, “I’ll see if we have any rations…”

“If i have to put up with being dropped in the middle of a period fiction, then I want tea… at least.” Mycroft called after him.

_ At least he doesn't seem offended- figures my interests would show under such… trying situations _… Gregoire made tea and was bringing it back in when he staggered… 

_ I’m on the police rescue vessel… in the river? _

_ Mycroft Holmes was pale and sweating wrapped in a shock blanket… _

_ He’d been shot? _

Greg managed to put the tray down as Mycroft turned his head to look at him. He had to grab hold of the door frame…

“Gregory? Are you well?”

“Mycroft? Mister… Holmes… we’re on… the police rescue?” he shook his head and the world spun again, “Admiral? You look pale… will…” he felt drastically unsteady.

“Greg. can you get to the bed and lay down?” Mycroft watched him carefully, “Bringing the tea if at all possible.”

Greg took a deep breath and managed to pick up the tray again. He gritted his teeth and walked to the narrow bed and put the tray by the bedside. “Big pockets in this costume…” he said quietly as he fished out some bottled water.

“Lie down, Greg, before you fall down.” Mycroft smiled very slightly. “They didn't mean to kill me so i expect the drug is non lethal… but you should lie down: Medical evacuation should arrive shortly.”

Gregoire Lestrade felt unaccountably shy as he stripped off his coat and lay down on the narrow ship board bed next to the Admiral- subject of his hopeless fascination for some years. “They got the Spaniards, then?”

“Yes, Gregory, they got the ‘Spaniards’.” Mycroft’s voice was fond if exasperated.

Gregoire slipped away into the dark and dreams of the sea, standing at the side of his Admiral…

…

…

Greg woke up from dreams of pirate ships and privateers, and for some reason he’d had to rescue … Admiral Holmes? From Spaniards… he was fairly certain he’d had a sword fight and a … _good God, like anyone could ACTUALLY dive out a palace window and swing to safety by a banner?_ He groaned, “What the hell was in that drink?!” and struggled to open his eyes.

He closed them again quickly- it was appallingly bright.

“Apparently a custom tailored hypnotic.” the posh and cool voice of Mycroft Holmes from nearby. “Here…” he felt long fingers brush his head and then he was being sat up and a straw pressed to his lips.

“I don't know what effect it would have had on me, but it certainly had an interesting effect on you…”

Greg forced his eyes open… _ not a hospital? _ Posh, everything insanely rich looking, but… very bare and everything put away… bedroom… “where?”

“My guest bedroom- I believe you may be the first person to use it.”

Greg tracked over and his eyes stopped on bandages on Mycroft… a Mycroft who was extremely under dressed enough that Greg could see the bandages…

“Wait… you were really shot? That wasn't a hallucination?!”

“I was actually shot, yes. You got us both out and to a police river response boat with a full medical kit and had me fairly well stabilized by the time my people showed up.” he raised an eyebrow and then nodded very formally, “AFTER you got a number of very important guests to safety. While they were not the target, it will still stand you in good stead- you’ve been put in for a commendation.”

While Greg was still trying to wrap his mind around that Mycroft gave him a very small, very wicked smile… it was enough to make Greg feel like his heart stuttered.

“Meanwhile the dashing Privateer Lestrade- pardon, DCI Lestrade- is on video escaping armed terrorists with one of the guests in an admiral's costume, by going out an upper story window and using the various banners in the best swashbuckling fashion…” he cleared his throat and the smile got the faintest bit more obvious, “Sherlock is insanely jealous.”

“I… didn't…”

“You did…”

Greg buried his head in his hands, “Did I also declare my undying love and propose after we sank the Spanish vessel off the coast?”

Dead silence.

Greg peeked up to see a stunned look slowly be replaced by a very stern one. “No, you most certainly did not.”

Greg moaned, “I’m… uh… it's just been a crush… and i… oh god…” he pulled himself together, “I assure you, this has been an ongoing issue and it will NOT have to interfere with our work relationship.”

“I suppose not, since I had no idea you felt that way… you… have? Seriously? It's not just the drugs?”

“I’ve had a fancy for you even back when I thought you were a posh wanker who caused me almost as much trouble as Sherlock.”

Mycroft barked a laugh and then tried to smother it with his hand, “that long? Really… when did you stop thinking of me as that?”

“Honestly?...” Greg thought about it… really thought about it. “I think I started assuming Sherlock just drove you batty and the… all the prickle and priss was just a defense mechanism: I mean, there’s only so many police stations and hospitals you can visit before you get tired of them.”

He dared a glance at Mycroft: he was looking attentive but not upset- fixing his full attention on him in a way that resembled Sherlock on a case.

“I don't think i started seeing… seeing YOU, if you know what I mean, until Sherlock came back- I realized I’d learned to interpret a few of those faint gestures as smiling… and when i saw you at his bedside in hospital, after he was shot…”

“You brought me an utterly horrible cup of coffee,” Mycroft said quietly, “and some atrocity masquerading as a sandwich.”

“You needed it… and… you took me out to lunch later… and i saw you smile again… and…” Greg sighed, “and then I noticed your hands on the tea cup and I was done for.”

Mycroft looked down in confusion at his hand, “pardon?”

“You have gorgeous hands- i mean you’re gorgeous all over, but… you’re…” Greg took solace in the fact that Mycroft still hadn’t shut this down and shrugged, “You have very graceful hands, and very precise… and … you use a fountain pen...it's like one of those movies where they zoom in on the hero’s hands writing a letter…” Greg muttered, “Never saw anyone signing a bill look elegant.”

Mycroft shook his head, “Dear me, Inspector, a closet romantic…”

“Yeah.” Greg braced himself and looked directly back at the man, “so what if I am?”

“How many period dramas involving pirates did you WATCH, Greg? Incidentally every news agency wants an interview, and I think the Queen wants to meet you- she rather enjoys a bit of drama herself, and my rescue was insanely dramatic.” Mycroft chuckled, “However I must insist that no matter HOW jealous Sherlock is, you do not do that again.”

“I really threw us out a window?”

Mycroft nodded.

“So… um… I may have been in a sword fight with Spaniards…?”

“Waved your sword at them in any event- I shot one with your service pistol and then someone threw a smoke grenade.” 

“And you were shot… and…”

“And you shot the one who shot me- he’s been captured and is being interrogated.”

And we were actually trapped in a room and I REALLY threw us out a window and… uh… swung down on a banner?”

“A bit imprecise, but as stated: there is video.”

“... How did we get to the rescue boat…?” Greg finally asked in a small voice.

“You managed to hotwire an antique car- it was...unexpected.”

Greg muttered “my hoodlum upbringing finally serving some good eh? Ah...so… are you… I remember bandaging you…”

“You did an excellent job but i needed a transfusion, various antibiotics- I’m still on those- and will be in continuing care for a bit.” Mycroft carefully picked up Greg's hand, “You slept straight through while they flushed your system, and are still under the effects of the drug to a degree, but i thought you would prefer to wake up in more comfortable surroundings.” he made a face, “Hospitals- filthy places.”

“Oddly, yeah they are…” Greg couldn't bring himself to pull his hand free. “But I didn't propose after we sank a Spanish ship? Well…” he tried to make light of it, “Good thing I didn't actually set off a canon, yeah?”

Mycroft very solemnly stated, “if you ACTUALLY sank a ship with a cannon my brother would never forgive you.”

“I think I saw HIM sword fighting Spaniards…”

Mycroft rolled his eyes, “he did, in fact, use his sword to fight two of the terrorists- not a sword fight since they had no swords- a sword against firearms: he’s mad.”

“You… aren't going to let this… uh… you're not upset?” Greg fidgeted a bit, “with me, i mean… and… uh…”

“Oh i am a bit aggravated,” Mycroft nodded slowly. “But you did not in fact propose after sinking a Spanish ship.”

“Ah.” Greg put his head down, “Fair enough… I won't let it interfere with our work, I swear…”

“But I suppose eventually- after a decent interval and a chance to actually get to know each other outside of work- we could take a cruise or something and you can propose over the wreckage of a Spanish ship… to make up for it.”

Greg’s head came up so fast he got dizzy. Mycroft was giving him that small wicked smile… only with a bit more warmth….

“Do… uh…” Greg dragged his free hand through his hair nervously- not letting go of Mycroft’s for a second. “ it's a bit backward I think, me being half naked in your bed first, but… do I at least get a kiss for rescuing you?”

Mycroft chuckled, “when neither of us are in desperate need of a shower, a toothbrush and so on? Certainly.”

At that moment a very stern looking woman cleared her throat from the doorway. Mycroft introduced her as a combination nurse and security guard on loan from MI5.

“Both of you,” she looked sternly at the two of them, “can visit later. Mister Holmes wanted to be here when you woke up, and he has been, and will be in HIS room resting”

Mycroft stood a bit stiffly, “Of course.” he nodded at Greg, “A bit more rest and then, sadly, back to business.” he smirked, “Spaniards don’t interrogate themselves, and there is always paperwork.”

Greg chuckled, “And I get to see this video?

Mycroft nodded, “in the morning.”

Greg lay back on the-ridiculously comfortable- bed and smiled up into the ceiling…

Mycroft Holmes- the incredible, untouchable, totally out of his league, Mycroft Holmes- was willing to get to know him outside of work, and… eventually? Let him propose over a Spanish shipwreck…

Greg dozed off with only the slight worry that Sherlock might find a way to actually arrange a ship fight with a Spanish warship…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Birthday!


End file.
